She wasn’t stopping this.
Relief made me frantic.
I wanted to sink into her bare, but at the back of my mind, I remembered Dakota, and the handful of women in Boston I’d screwed when I got out of prison. Cursing under my breath, I dug my wallet out of my jeans and found a condom. The first chance I get, I thought, looking down at Jane, legs spread for me, tits heaving against that flimsy dress, I’m getting a clean bill of health so I can have her without anything between us.
Fuck, no one made me harder. No one did it for me like she did.
That made me almost as pissed as it did hard.
My jeans shucked down just low enough to free me, condom on, I pinned Jane’s wrists at either side of her head, enjoying her familiar gasps of excitement.
Without taking a moment, my only focus on being inside her, I pushed against her wet heat and thrust.
Hard.
I was so euphoric, her tight, hot clasp around my dick the best thing I’d ever felt in my life, that her gasp of pain didn’t immediately register with me.
Opening my eyes, I stared down at her face, her expression finally cutting through my pleasure. She pulsed and throbbed around me, as tight as I remembered her when we were teenagers.
And her face was pinched with discomfort, like it was the first time too.
There were even tears in her eyes.
“What the fuck?” I huffed out, desperate to move but too concerned to continue.
She was tight.
Too tight, I supposed, for a woman who’d been having regular sex.
Jane gazed up at me, and there was something unbearably sad behind the heat in her eyes. Emotion burned in my throat as I looked into her eyes. “Jane?”
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. She undulated, so I slid deeper inside.
Shivery heat sparked down my spine and swirled in my groin, making me groan.
I didn’t know if Jane had been with anyone since me, but I knew she hadn’t been with anyone in a long while. Which meant she wasn’t sleeping with Asher Steadman.
There were a lot of questions that came with that realization, but the guy in me didn’t care about asking them right then. The man that used to adore this woman to distraction felt relief and possessiveness flood him in a rush of primal need.
I drove into her again, baring my teeth against the kind of pleasure that made my eyes want to roll back in my head. Jane gasped, lifting her hips into my mine as I moved in and out of her.
My grip tightened on her wrists as my drives increased in speed and strength. The whole bed shook as I growled her name over and over.
“You need this too,” I panted hard. “You need this like I need this.”
“Yes,” Jane panted, her eyes closing.
“Open your eyes,” I demanded.
She did.
“This is me,” I breathed against her lips, before kissing her hungrily. I broke away to fuck her harder. “You can’t hide from it, Jane. Don’t hide from it.”
“Jamie!” she screamed as she came, clenching around my driving cock in heartrending throbs.
That’s all it took.
“Fuck!” I tensed between her legs seconds before I came, my dick pulsing and pulsing inside her. Bliss shuddered through me as I held myself over her, pouring myself into the condom when I wanted to pour it all into her.
Jesus, it was never ending.
My muscles turned to liquid as I slumped over her, pressing my face into her throat as I ground my dick into her, trying to prolong every second.
Jane.
Peace settled over me. Contentment I hadn’t felt in who knew how long settled in as I laid on top of her soft body and breathed her in. Shit, I could have fallen asleep like that.
“Jamie,” she whispered, pressing a hand to my side. “Jamie, I can’t breathe.”
Reluctantly, I lifted my head, pushing slowly onto my hands to raise my weight off her, and stared down at her flushed face.
She wouldn’t look at me.
“Jane.”
“I need to clean up,” she muttered, still not meeting my eyes.
“Jane, look at me.”
She raised those beautiful hazel-green eyes to mine. My heart thundered as hard as it had as I moved inside her just seconds before.
“You’re not sleeping with Asher.” It wasn’t a question.
Angry tears shimmered in her eyes. “There’s been no one since you.”
With that shocking announcement, I felt the room spin.
Chapter 25
JANE
* * *
“Get off me,” I demanded, feeling vulnerable.
To my surprise, Jamie did as I asked. He rolled off and onto his back, his hands covering his face.
Trembling, I pushed down the dress that he’d practically ruined when I’d allowed him to screw me like the masochist I was.
I moved to get off the bed and his hand suddenly shot out, wrapping around my bicep.
“Stay. Talk,” he demanded.
Why the hell did he sound angry? I was the one who should be angry. I was the one who had pined like an idiot over him, unable to move on, only to hand myself over to him, even when he’d treated me like I was the enemy.
As soon as he’d started kissing me, however, I’d felt like I was home.
No matter what my rational brain told me, I wanted him inside me more desperately than I’d wanted anything. At that moment, as the orgasm shattered through me, it had felt worth it.
But as soon as the pleasure faded, I was left with the reality.
“I have a better idea. Pull up your pants and get out.” I wrenched out of his grasp, sliding off the bed and tugging my dress back into position. I throbbed between my legs, reminding me what I’d just done.
Marching out of the bedroom, not sure how I’d face that room again, I called over my shoulder, “That wasn’t a request, Jamie.”
Slamming into the bathroom, I leaned against the sink, afraid to look at my reflection in the mirror above it. I didn’t want to face myself. Beyond the bathroom door, I could hear movement, and then Jamie’s footsteps down the hall. My heart thudded as I waited for him to leave and then it skipped a beat as the bathroom door flew open.
The door banged back against the opposite wall as he stood in the hall, staring at me in disbelief. Although his jeans were pulled back up, he hadn’t bothered to zip them. He looked disheveled, freshly screwed and unbearably sexy.
“Do you have a hearing problem?” I asked, quietly seething.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Tell me the truth.”
“I hate strawberries.”
“Stop fucking around, Jane. You just said there’s been no one but me. What the hell is going on with you and Asher?”
“None of your business.” I turned to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Please leave.”
He didn’t leave. Instead, for the first time since he’d stormed back into my life, his expression gentled with concern. My breath caught. In that moment, he reminded me so much of my Jamie. “Jane, talk to me. Tell me what the hell I’m missing here.”
I didn’t want to.
What was the point?
We’d had a moment of weakness. So what? It was better to pretend it never happened because nothing changed the fact that he’d broken up with me and then proceeded to make me the target of all his anger.
It was time to push him back across the hall, and asking nicely wasn’t working. “You’ve had other women, right? The blond in the hall that day …”
Something like discomfort flickered across his face.
“Well?” I demanded. “Are you going to tell me that you saved yourself for me, Jamie? Or have there been other women since you got out of prison?”
There went that muscle again, ticking away. He heaved a sigh. “There have been other women,” he admitted.
Even though I’d known that, it still hurt, and I didn’t do a very good job of hiding it.
“Jane …” He
took a placating step toward me.
“Don’t.” I retreated out of his reach. “Why is it always the way? Huh?” A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it, and I hated myself for the weakness. Jamie’s eyes followed the tear as if he were entranced. “Why is the woman always the one who’s faithful with her body, but the guy never is?”
Anger flashed over his face. “We weren’t together. That was your doing. And I didn’t cheat.”
My doing?
Ugh, typical man, twisting history to suit himself and his agenda! I scoffed. “Yeah, right. But you moved on. And I couldn’t. So, I guess that means you win.”
He shook his head, taking another step toward me, and I held my hand up against him. He stopped, frustration mottling his cheeks. “I don’t get it. I don’t get this.” He gestured between us.
I didn’t get it either.
What I did know was that I was seconds from falling apart, and he was the last person I wanted to witness it.
“I asked you to leave. If you don’t, I’m going to start screaming bloody murder.”
Seeing the resolve on my face, Jamie cut me a dark look. “This discussion isn’t over.”
Fury still boiled inside me as he walked out of the bathroom, heading toward the front of the apartment. It’s what propelled me out into the hall to call after him just as he reached the door.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Was it good?”
Confusion, wariness, and desire mingled in his expression. Then longing and weariness and something I couldn’t quite decipher replaced it all. “It’s fucking paradise with you,” he said, his voice gruff. “Even though I wish it wasn’t. I wish it were that with anyone but you.”
My lips trembled as I tried to smile like I didn’t care. Like his words didn’t kill me. “Yeah, well, it’s never happening again so you needn’t flagellate yourself.”
Jamie gave a bark of dark laughter as he pulled open the apartment door. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
I flinched when the door slammed behind him.
As I returned to the bedroom, tears slipping down my cheeks, I knew I should jump in the shower and wash the smell of him off me.
Instead, I curled on the bed, on top of the duvet, and closed my eyes, remembering the overwhelming feel of him pushing inside me. The pleasure burn that soon turned to rapture. Jamie’s ocean eyes blazing with lust.
I grieved for the love in his eyes when he looked at me.
But it was with a dark smile of satisfaction that I finally drifted to sleep.
If tonight had proven anything, it was that I was still under his skin, just as much as he was under mine.
And I kind of liked being there.
Twisted little Jane Doe.
Guess Jamie’s heart wasn’t the only one all tangled up.
Filming was only halfway done with Patel Smith’s musical, and he’d decided to make a big change to one of the sets. Which meant I’d barely had an hour’s sleep after Jamie left when I got the call from Sandy that I was needed in the studio. By some miracle we’d managed to pull the changes together in time for filming later that day.
I was just breathing a sigh of relief as Patel gave the changes his approval when my phone vibrated in my back pocket. Since Patel was deep in conversation with Sandy, I stepped away from the set, thinking it was probably Asher texting me. He’d already called that morning to see how I was feeling.
The urge to tell him everything was growing stronger. I needed to be there for my friend, and I couldn’t because of the lies between us.
To protect Jamie, I’d kept my mouth shut and stewed in my crappy friend guilt.
The text wasn’t from Asher.
Jane, it’s Lincoln. I had a great time meeting you last night. Would you still like to go to dinner with me?
Work had done little to get my mind off the nightclub or the events with Jamie after it.
The events.
I laughed at myself.
The screwing.
The screwing with Jamie.
Skin flushing, I pushed away those unhelpful images and texted Lincoln back that I would love to. We arranged to meet for dinner at an Italian place I liked downtown the following Thursday, his one of two nights off. At this rate, it would take months to infiltrate his friendship with Ethan Wright and use it to get what we needed.
On that thought, I realized I hadn’t even asked Jamie what happened when he followed Wright after he’d left the club.
My hands shook as I shot Jamie a text to update him about Gaines.
He didn’t respond.
Irritated, I tried to throw myself back into work, but my mind kept drifting to my ex and the bitter exchanges between us. We seemed at once incapable of letting go but also of forgiving each other.
An hour later Jamie still hadn’t texted back, which bothered me more than I’d like. This was his grand plan, after all. He couldn’t leave me hanging.
It was a surprise, then, when I got a call from security to say “Jamie Stone” was here to see me again. I told them to let him in, my heart pounding, my belly fluttering. It was a cruel fate that would make Jamie McKenna the only man who inspired such exhilaration.
“Is it your lunch break yet?” Jamie asked without preamble as I walked out of the soundstage to meet him by his car.
I wanted to pull my elbow back and then let my fist fly at his face. It didn’t shock me that Jamie incited that violent passion in me.
He was seriously going to come here and just pretend like we didn’t have sex?
“Earth to Jane,” he said. “Come in, Jane.”
He was!
“Are you kidding me?”
“We have somewhere to be.” He opened the passenger side door. “Are you getting in? Or are you backing out of helping me Count of Monte Cristo the shit out of LA?”
I would not laugh or smile or be even remotely amused.
Fine.
If he wanted to play it that way, I could do that.
In fact, it was better. Pretending like it didn’t happen was for the best. “Give me five minutes.”
I returned a few minutes later with my purse after telling Lea I was taking my lunch break off the lot. Having gone from someone who lived and breathed every minute on the set to someone constantly distracted and taking lunch breaks, Jamie might just inadvertently ruin my career. Yay for him. Something to cross off that list of his.
Bastard.
Well, you didn’t have to get in the car, Jane, I reminded myself.
True. Hello, self-sabotage.
As I got in, I tried to ignore how much the Porsche smelled like Jamie. When my gaze moved to his hands as he shifted into drive, I quickly wrenched my eyes away. All I saw were those gorgeous hands on me. I could still feel them wrapped tight around my wrists, pinning me to the bed while his hips thrust against mine.
Flushing hot, I stared out the passenger window. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He drove across the river, past Universal City, heading south. His mysteriousness was making my irritation increase by the second. Moreover, I was hungry. I’d been promised a lunch break. As if reading my mind, Jamie drove the car off Barham Boulevard and pulled up to drive-thru at a sub place. “What do you want?” He flicked his finger at the small restaurant.
“Where are we going?”
“Right now, we’re grabbing some food.” He pulled up to the outside menu. “What do you want?” Annoyingly, he read it to me. Every item, in detail, as if he were being paid to do it.
“I’ll have the veggie sub,” I cut him off, if only to make it end.
Jamie shot me a confused look. “You a vegetarian now?”
“No.”
Not responding to my curtness, Jamie ordered our food and paid for it, handing over the bags to me as he drove back onto the main road and turned left, heading farther south.
Ten minutes from the studio lot, he parked along the sidewalk
across from the hospital.
“Now will you tell me what we’re doing here?”
He pointed down the street. “That yellow building is owned by a group of therapists who work at the hospital too. They host different therapy groups, including one called Coping with Cancer.” The building was small compared to the others on this street; only two stories and painted a vibrant, sunny yellow.
Confused, I turned to him. “And we’re here why?”
“You’ll see. Keep your eyes on the door.” He took his sub and drink from me and began eating. Casually. Like we were on a stakeout and this was an everyday occurrence for him.
Even though I was pissed at the subterfuge and drama, I was also hungry, so I ate as we waited. Ten minutes later, food gone, and tension still unbearably thick between us, I was about to complain when the door to the center swung open.
A few people stepped out onto the sidewalk, and I searched their faces for someone familiar.
Finally, a woman with short, silver-gray hair appeared and stopped to talk with a younger man. I recognized her from Jamie’s surveillance shots. I recognized her from court. My heart sped up.
I turned to Jamie. “Elena Marshall.”
He was already looking at me, expression unreadable. “I checked everyone’s financial records, and there were a lot of medical bills on Elena’s. Considering how much money Foster Steadman must have paid her, that woman is up to her eyeballs in debt. Turns out she had breast cancer a few years ago. Now she volunteers and runs this support group for people suffering with cancer or who have lost a loved one to cancer.”
Uneasiness churned in my gut as I watched Elena Marshall. She crossed the street, seeming in good health now, as she got into a small car. I was conflicted.
This woman had helped frame Jamie for a crime he didn’t commit.
I hated her.
But I wondered if perhaps Karma hadn’t already dealt with Elena Marshall. Cancer was no joke, and neither were the medical bills that came with it.
As if he could read my mind, Jamie spoke, his voice soft but hard at the same time. “Cancer happens to all kinds of people, Jane. It doesn’t discriminate. Good, bad, and all in between. It doesn’t exonerate her from what she did to me. She took five years of my life.”
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